I'll Live For You
by ShadowedSoulSpirit
Summary: Completed Trilogy to I'm Still Here and I Don't Want to Die. Misaki Yata, struggling to survive after deadly wound, finally comes to terms with his past failures and the 'precious thing' he could live for. Saruhiko Fushimi, however, is almost certain the vanguard has died. Suicide Mentioning. Warnings Inside.


**I'll Live For You**

* * *

 **A K Project trilogy.**

 **Summary:** Misaki Yata, struggling to survive after deadly wound, finally comes to terms with his past failures and the 'precious thing' he could live for. Saruhiko Fushimi, however, is almost certain the vanguard has died. Completed Trilogy to I'm Still Here and I Don't Want to Die.

 **Warning:** This has heavy repeated mention of suicide, language, and FushimixYata. Don't like, don't read!

 **Note:** This is the trilogy to _I'm Still Here_ and _I Don't Want to Die_

* * *

A blank mind is a dark mind, because without anything, there would be no light; only nothingness and nothingness is akin to the dark.

Saruhiko Fushimi didn't know if he should trust Misaki Yata or not; to believe the red when he said he won't die. He knew he should but couldn't bring himself to as he listened to his soft gasps. Fushimi was going at full speed, exploiting everything he knew about physics and his body limits, and he still wasn't within a mile of the hospital. Dammit all. That's what he gets for accepting a house from Munakata.

"You better not die Misaki." He said for the eleventh time, more to the bobbling bubbles of blue jumping across the shadows. All the red could do was gasp.

Gritting his teeth, he persisted; but just like that day Yata jumped from the bridge, he felt like he was swimming through water. His muscles cramped and burned, burned hotter than Homra's fire and made him stumble. Yata's useless limbs flailed in his arms, spreading blood across the fabric of his jeans.

This was hopeless.

He felt like he couldn't breathe. His heavy exhale left the lens of his glasses fogged up. He could hardly tell the difference between the pavement and anything that might jump out at him.

"Don't die…"

It felt like he was dying on him part of his body knowing he couldn't make it, the other part struggling to keep up with his persistent mind. He stumbled again but couldn't stay upright, crashing into the ground with the vanguard. His headphones cracked against the ground, and the blue light that once showed the way died, leaving the blue and the red consumed in the same color: black. Even with his glasses, his poor vision prevailed; he could hardly make out the outline of the vanguard, having left the lamplight district.

It was over.

He could curl up and sleep right then, too exhausted to continue. Yata would die. The man who finally decided his life was worth living was grappling for the end of it.

Slowly, almost mechanical like, he felt his way for the vanguard, using the sickening feel of his blood as an indicator. Wrapping his fingers around the wound, he raises his other hand and gripped Yata's sleeve and yanked. Rip! The fabric came apart and with deft knowing fingers, he wrapped it around the red's forearm with a dexterity only known to someone who struggled with their vision; and made a tourniquet to preserve whatever life may still remain.

"Come on Misaki..." He grumbled beneath his breath, pulling the vanguard into his lap. His fingers stung from his ice cold skin and instantly he flinched away, causing the vanguard to slump against his chest.

This is hopeless, the darker side of him warned, but Saruhiko Fushimi couldn't give two fucks at the moment.

"Think! Think Fushimi… think." His mind racked for anything, his chest thrumming to the raged breath of the vanguard. It was pitch black in the middle of a lightless district, with a hospital in any direction. There was little chance of getting there blindly.

But of course, years of childhood training made Fushimi sharp, and the moment when Yata's limb slipped past his own, an idea surfaced in an instant. His fingers snatched the wrist, feeling the stronger bite of metal and the smooth face of the watch. This could be his one and only shot.

Weaving an arm around Yata's waist to keep him still, Fushimi clicked on the watch, holding the vanguard arm out like a remote as holographic slate appeared and illuminated a small oval around them. It took all of Fushimi's will not to bend over and puke at the sight. All of his pants—Yata's too—was stained in thick, almost black blood.

"Disgusting…" He turned up his nose slightly. "Stop bleeding out dammit."

He couldn't help but snap, although he knew Misaki Yata was drifting closer to that lift that'll have his ex-best friend at his king's side once again; and a certain sense of jealousy swept across him. He didn't want Mikoto to take his Misaki, not again, not after what Yata attempted to do.

Never in a million years did Saruhiko Fushimi think he would be dialing the number he was at that moment, a little surprised he even remember the number in the first place; but each drawn out ring sound longer than the last, and Misaki Yata's breath seemed to stutter against the skin of his neck.

"Answer it you shitty bartender…" His answer was granted, because moments later he heard a groggy, "Yata…?"

"It's Fushimi. You need to track this call right now." He tched when he heard a yawn. He didn't understand. His Misaki was dying!

"Why's that…? What's wrong…?" He wanted to scream so bad at him; he wanted to yell until his voice was raw. But when the moment came that he could, his response barely managed a whisper.

"Misaki is dying…"

In an instant, a red light punctured his gaze, flashing steadily on the side of the watch. He was tracking the call. Fushimi felt no relief. He holds on tighter to the vanguard.

"I can find him." It was Anna, probably speaking over Kusanagi's shoulder; but Saruhiko didn't have the voice to tell him to hurry. The pessimistic part of his brain was dominating his thoughts, showing a dark and horrible world without the red to keep him sane. If that was to happen, he would finally understand why Misaki Yata wanted to kill himself.

"Come on…" He mumbled into the crown of his head, trying to nudge the limbs to life. "Come on you stupid vanguard... you're supposed to protect." His throat tightened when the arms just slap uselessly against his leg, snatching the words from his mouth.

 _So protect me from myself._

* * *

Rescue for Misaki Yata came in twelve minutes. Twelve minutes too long, Saruhiko Fushimi thought bitterly as Homra's bartender basically peeled the vanguard from his grasp and took off down the street, Anna bobbling behind them. There had been a certain warmth where the body had been pressed against him; but the moment it was removed the warmth was sapped, leaving him nothing better to do then to get up and hope his jeans weren't permanently stained.

He had almost snapped, the way they carried him, the way they didn't cradle his head and let his headphones nearly slip for his neck, but he didn't.

He wanted to follow them, to chase after the clan that was once his own.

But he didn't.

"Tch… what a mess…"

But he wasn't talking about his clothes.

The blue returned to his home, more exhausted then when he had left it. Vague questions swirl around his mind as he chipped the clothes from his body, tossing them into the trash instead of the washing machine. Was Misaki dead now?

He turned on the shower head, trying to wash away the imprint the vanguard had left on his chest, but it was like it had faded from the skin and onto his soul. He scrubbed hard until his flesh was pink, and still he felt the red against him, dying so gracefully that Fushimi punched the tiles and let his face get soaked by the spray.

Was his Misaki a corpse now?

Was he satisfied that he was dead, and now could join his fucking king and Tatara? Fushimi's legs felt weak. After everything… he decided dying is still worth it?

He can hear his phone ringing in the next room, but he couldn't move. All he can do is scratch at the scar he made, the damage he did, the final goodbye he had spoken to his former best friend. He could remember their fights, their jeers, that queer look in Misaki's eyes when he was out for revenge and answers. He was going to lose all of that.

Everything.

He laughed bitterly and tilted his head into the spray.

Since when was Yata everything? It wasn't hard to figure out, especially when his hand left his collarbone and traced the childhood scars on his body.

"Stupid Misaki…" He could hear it, faintly in the back of his head.

"Stupid monkey."

He turned the nozzle quickly, shutting off the flow of water so he was left dripping. A rush of cold air breathed on him, and he shivered, a hollow smirk on his face.

"Mi…sa…ki…"

* * *

In his sleep, Misaki Yata dreamed. He was for certain he had ran to Saruhiko Fushimi's house, but here he was standing in Homra, reacquainted with an old loss that would not heal.

His first instinct was to run his hand upon the bar—it was clean, like it hadn't been in a long time, and when the vanguard pulled away the dustless hand, he said, "What the hell?"

Kusanagi, no matter how much he scrubbed, could never clean it like he used to, as if the wood was dyed by their deaths. Why was now any different?

"God… I'm losing my mind." He rubbed the back of his head, only to find his beanie missing. Hadn't he been wearing it? "The hell? Did Saru take that?"

Instinctively, his fingers hooked onto his headphones—but they were light and flimsy, and when Misaki Yata ripped them off, he discovered that they weren't the ones his Saru had bought him.

"What's… going on..?" No one could answer, and the vanguard felt more lost then ever when he glanced at his wrist, unmarred by the attack.

Bitterly, he whispered. "I hope I'm dead then."

"No."

The interjection made his back hit the bar, his hands raised in defense. Lightly, the speaker came around a doorway, and Yata felt so weak that he had to grab onto the counter before he fell.

"You can't think like that Yata. You have to stay positive. It'll all work out in the end remember?"

He was sluggish to push himself off his hands; but when he did, his hands were collected into softer, paler ones—but all the red could remember was his despair and how it left him when he jumped from the bridge.

"T-To… Totsuka..."

Tatara's smile shattered the remnants of his heart. He failed as a vanguard—no. He failed as a best friend, as a brother. All Fushimi had shown him the day before, was worthless when faced with that smile. He truly does deserve to die.

"Yata please…those thoughts are bad. You can't think them." Those hands that held his own would never play guitar again. That voice that spoke to him would never sing, again all because Misaki Yata failed to protect. How could he not think like that? He had been selfish to decide otherwise; to decide that he was worthy enough to live.

"They're bad but they're true. Aren't they Totsuka?" The vanguard scrunched his forehead, trying to avoid the pleading look before him. "I hope I bleed out and never wake up."

His chest constricted with satisfaction. It felt good to say those words, after Saruhiko shot down every negative thing; but it only made Tatara hover all the more.

"Yata… what about Anna? Fushimi? Kamamoto?"

Misaki yanked his hands away. "I can't protect them either. They'll end up dead too if I'm around."

"That's not true." He settled his hands on his shoulder instead. "They'll miss you Yata."

"Bullshit."

One thing about the vanguard that could never fade with his depression was his stubbornness. His stubbornness made him starve and stole his sleep. His stubbornness blocked his ears and fed his head with lies. That's why he would not listen to Fushimi, and definitely would not listen to Totsuka—because he lost them both, and didn't deserve to be around them.

Fruitlessly, Tatara sighed. "Yata."

The vanguard folded his arms, his final defense; and Tatara Totsuka knew he was locked from his heart.

"But you made so much progress with Fushimi…"

At this, the living red snorted. "I was just lying to myself." Tatara retracted his hands. "I know better now when that guy slit my wrist—it reminded me that I did deserve to die. I was stupid for thinking otherwise." But he remembered the face Saruhiko Fushimi made when he had said otherwise—and a sudden sense of shame slapped him across the face.

Tatara Totsuka was fighting a pointless battle alone; so taking a step away from the vanguard's flushed face, he called out softly to the doorway he had appeared in.

"Mikoto… Come here please."

The blood in the vanguard's body ceased to move, and he choked on his breath. His ultimate failure, his King, was here? He could hear the click that followed each step, and before he even saw the red hair he was dripping tears upon the floor. Why was he such a failure? Why?

Mikoto Suoh appeared in the doorway, as untamed as ever, but a certain peace had settled in his eyes and his posture.

"What do you want?"

Yata could not protect the people that matter most. Was death playing a cruel trick to mock him for his failures?

"Yata still thinks he should die King…" Tatara was watching the vanguard closely, his arms open for help. "He needs convincing…"

The red felt like his heart had been slit instead of his wrist when Mikoto looked at him, a certain tiredness that drooped his expression to a solemn one. He had failed to stop his death. Quickly, he turned away, whisking his tears into the sleeve of his shirt.

"Then let him."

"King…!"

The former Red King shrugged his shoulders, like that was the best advice he was capable of giving. "If he wanted to die, let him. There is no point in stopping him."

 _"If you do it, that means I'm a failure. I'll have to kill myself too, considering your logic."_

 _"Go ahead. Slit your wrists Misaki. Jump off a bridge again. I'll follow you after."_

 _"I saved you for a reason idiot. Stop wasting it. Your life is not garbage that you can throw out whenever you're done with it."_

"But King... you can't just say that..!" Tatara tugged on his sleeve, like he could provoke some sage words to come out. Mikoto Suoh only shrugged again.

" _I'm still here."_

Misaki Yata didn't need to face him to know what he said had hit a homerun. Like an animal on the prowl, he stepped around Tatara Totsuka, approaching the back of his former vanguard and clansmen. Each click made one more tear fall, until the memories in his head were leaking from his eyes and he couldn't look his King in the face, in case he started to cry harder.

"Yata. Listen to what I have to say." The hand that could cause so much destruction with an irritated flick of the finger was touching his shoulder, the shoulder of a failure. The vanguard couldn't help but tremble, his emotions forming a heavy ball in his throat.

"Things are hard. But things are never ease." Slowly, the red's eyes met that of his king; and he was awestruck by the sudden calmness that inhabited the once uneasy orbs. "Don't be like me. Don't let go of something precious because you think you don't deserve it. I did that, and lost it. When I lost it, I lost myself. I became the monster I was afraid of becoming." He exhaled softly through his nose, and Yata almost saw a smile twitch the ends of his lips.

"I wanted to die. So bad. And I did, because of it. I was happy when I was dead, because I would meet my precious thing. You can die, but your precious thing isn't with us Yata."

"My…my precious thing..?" Yata said, through his sniffling mess.

"Everyone has one. Some people hide it and pretend they hate everything. But you have a precious thing, and it is still in the life you are trying to leave. If you were to die, you would leave it behind; and that precious thing might try and become what I did, because they are so upset."

The words made no sense to the vanguard's straining ears, who was trying not to sob louder than his former king's voice. Precious thing? He didn't have a precious thing. He had lost them when he lost Tatara and Mikoto. Couldn't they see that?"

"B…but…" Mikoto raised a hand, to silence him.

"If you die now, your precious thing will die too. Not physically, but psychologically. Your precious thing isn't with us Yata. Go find it while you are still alive."

Around the figure of his King, he could see Totsuka beaming happily, as if he too had found his precious thing in death.

Stubbornness is what kept Yata from understanding though.

"I don't care…" He was hiccupping now—like a small child—but it didn't matter to him anymore. "I should die… I should be with you guys… I don't have a precious thing…"

The King and Vassal exchanged looks, and suddenly Mikoto was pulling away and sauntering back to the doorway before he could get in another word. Looking over his shoulder, a faint glare of red caught his eye as he said, "I'm going to sleep then." And disappeared around the corner.

Weak kneed, Yata's legs collapsed in on themselves. It would seem like even in the afterlife, he had failed his king. If he couldn't live because was a failure, but couldn't die because he was a failure, where would he possibly go?

Tatara's head swiveled from the doorway to the vanguard's sunken form. He didn't have much of a choice, but he does offer up one last thing.

"Yata… just find your precious thing. You will be so much happier when you discover it. It'll work out. So don't sweat it, alright?"

But he would sweat it, because when Tatara Totsuka left him too, Misaki Yata felt like he had died in his arms all over again.

* * *

It was only the next morning when Saruhiko Fushimi received a call from Homra's bartender—but when he answered the phone, he already knew why he would be calling him so early in the morning. Hastily, he threw the comforter from his body and snatched up his phone, shoving his bare feet into his boots nearby as he managed a quiet, "Hello?"

His body had ached all throughout the night, his body thinking of his Misaki and his Misaki alone, causing sleep to be stolen from him. But it mattered little now.

"Fushimi…"

"Just say it already."

Softly, Saruhiko swallowed, working on his jacket when his foot accidently kicked something across the room. It clunked softly against the wall, and when the blue glanced at it, he could've lost it on the spot. It was the first player controller. The one he and his Misaki fought over every time they played.

"Well, we got him to the hospital…"

Fushimi clicked his tongue at him, causing Izumo Kusanagi to pause. He was avoiding the inevitable. Slamming his door shut behind him, the man didn't even care enough to lock it as he said, "He's dead isn't he? Just say it and get it over with."

There was a long pause—such a long pause that Fushimi felt his heart beat thirty eight times before he heard the bartender even breath in preparation for his response.

Misaki. His everything. Gone. Destroyed. Dead.

He had to see the body; but he almost fell down the stairs leading to his house in his haste.

"Fushimi. Just come down here."

He was dead, but Kusanagi wouldn't say. Agitated, he hung up mid-call, running down the sidewalk like he had done the night before with the bleeding vanguard in his arms. He had promised he wouldn't die, that he didn't want to die. Saruhiko bitterly imagined that he had changed his mind and gladly left this world without a second thought, without a good bye.

A sharp breath made Fushimi's throat sting.

This was revenge wasn't it; for leaving the clan with an improper good bye. This was payback for delving his burning fingers into his skin and disowning the red clan and his best friend. Misaki Yata was trying to get back at him, and it worked—but Fushimi would attribute the few tears that escaped to the wind that stung his eyes.

Saruhiko Fushimi imagined all the ways he would end it for himself when he burst through the hospital door. Maybe he should go like his Misaki had wanted to, by jumping off a bridge; or maybe he should do it like he really died, by slitting his wrist and probably concoct some half assed story that he got jumped to apologize for his stupidity. Either way would work, he finally decided.

He approached the help desk out of breath, his glasses slightly skewed and his hair windblown. The women didn't have to ask, because she knew. Once the numbers to the room left her lips, the blue was down the hall, trying to straighten his appearance through passing windows even though his Misaki would never see what he looked like.

He wasn't much for sparing himself; so when he found the door he was certain his dead Misaki lay beyond, he didn't even pause. He casted the door open and walked in. He wanted to burst into tears.

But he didn't.

Because the first thing he heard was a heart monitor.

A working, beating heart monitor.

Saruhiko Fushimi nearly crashed into the bed when he turned the corner sharply. His Misaki, his pale but alive Misaki lay on the bed, his body cushioned by masses of pillows to help his frailness. The wrist that once spewed blood was wrapped up tightly and lay on one of the mountains, out stretched and waiting for something.

Fushimi had to stand and watch the heart monitor for a moment. Even with his glasses pulled off, the line jumped heartedly away, indicating there was still life and it wasn't all over.

But it wasn't enough.

Saruhiko Fushimi had to feel the heartbeat, feel the heartbeat of someone living instead of someone dying in his arms. Carefully situating himself next to the weak and sleeping vanguard, he leaned over his body and pressed his ear to his chest.

Thud.

It was funny, how bad the blue wished to slap the red when he heard the beat of life thumping under his rib cage. He wanted to shake him awake, to ask him that 'didn't it feel good to be alive', but he didn't.

He was afraid of what the answer might be.

Instead, he pulled away, watching his Misaki while he was at peace instead of cursing at him.

His body was still as supple as a stick, his strong arms and legs rotting with ill-use and mis-care. If Fushimi raised his shirt, he would see the distinct bends in his ribs; but even as his body succumbed to its mistreatment, there was little in his face that changed. The youthfulness was gone; but it was restored by the eyebrows that knitted in his sleep and the bits of hair that would curl next to his ears and across his forehead.

He didn't look quite at peace—but troubled—by the way he unconsciously chewed his bottom lip and his arm twitched. He almost lost him. He almost lost his Misaki twice. If he woke up again, would he try to kill himself a third time—and finally succeed?

"You… are such an idiot…" A hard glint from the lights caused a glare on Fushimi's glasses, effectively hiding his traitorous eyes. "Stupid… stupid Misaki…"

The buzz of the heart machine was his only answer, but the vanguard was probably too far gone to hear him. Lightly, he smacked his shoulder.

"Trying to kill yourself… are you that dense…?"

His fingers gripped Yata's shirt, resisting the urge to jerk him awake. "Can't you see?"

His mind jumped back to after his first suicide attempt, and the way he held him on the couch; the look on his Misaki's face when he got a new pair of headphones, or when he tasted that bitter soda. He could almost picture his bedroom again, his Misaki sitting on the covers, eager to play a round of games like it had been the old days.

"I can't lose you… idiot… I just… can't…"

Tears dribbled from the tips of his eye lashes, falling onto his hand. "I know we can't… be friends anymore… but Misaki… you mean so much… I can't… I can't lose you too… I'd rather fight you every day of my life… then visit a grave…"

He felt so raw and exposed, that any other time he would've tched himself for being so emotional. He was trying to harness his emotions, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop them. All he was feeling, from the moment he left Homra until that moment in the hospital was consuming him, fueling the flames of a beast that wouldn't remain dormant if he was to lose his Misaki.

"If you die… I'm serious… I'll find the nearest bridge… and follow." His stomach felt so weak, staring down onto the corpse like face of his former best friend, his life, his precious thing.

"I will…" He swallowed. "Mi…sa…ki…"

"Fucking… monkey."

A hand flicked the blue's shoulder. Years of practice made taming those emotions much easier; so before Yata even opened his eyes, Fushimi was clear of any signs of formally crying.

"Calling me... that shitty name… it's Yata…garasu…" the vanguard's voice cracked at the title, remembering his visit with Tatara and Mikoto.

"It will always be Misaki to me." Fushimi couldn't make himself sound cold and heartless however, his voice betraying his feelings.

" _You have a precious thing, and it is still in the life you are leaving. If you were to die, you would leave it behind; and that precious thing might try and become what I did, because they are so upset."_

Misaki Yata was almost certain he didn't have a precious thing; but that didn't prevent him from staring up at Saruhiko Fushimi for answers. The blue cleared his throat under the gaze.

"Can't believe you were stupid enough to get hurt." Yata was wounded that Fushimi wouldn't even look at him, instead focused on the heart monitor beside him. "Honestly… still trying to be suicidal? I thought we went over this. If you die, I'll follow."

" _I'm still here."_

" _If you were to die, you would leave it behind; and that precious thing might try and become what I did, because they are so upset."_

"Shut… your stupid mouth…" The vanguard gritted his teeth, and the blue looked down at him with the same expression Mikoto wore when he talked about his precious thing.

…No…that couldn't be… right?

"So…" It was the red's turn not to meet his ex-best friend's eyes when he spoke. "You can't live without me huh…?"

Saruhiko raised an eyebrow, not betraying anything. "And why do you think that Misaki?"

"I heard you…"

The swordsman tched himself for saying such things out loud, but before he could dissuade the vanguard, Yata reached up and touched his arm to stop him. Attentively, the blue waited, as if he was waiting patiently to dislodge the marble Anna had gotten stuck.

"When... I was asleep… I thought about dying again." Fushimi narrowed his eyes. "I meet Mikoto and Tatara... and I told them both I deserved to die."

"Which is untrue." The red pinched his arm when he was interrupted, continuing nonetheless.

"When I did… Mikoto started talking about his precious thing… and how everyone has a precious thing and I had one too… but I was crying so hard that I didn't understand. But he said… that I had a precious thing… and that if I died I wouldn't be able to see that…"

Saruhiko Fushimi was almost certain he was either talking about Homra, skateboarding, or video games.

"I really don't believe… I deserve a precious thing… after this…" He waved his bandaged wrist a little, before it weakly fluttered back to the covers. "But… I see that I have one…"

The blue snorted, causing him to stop abruptly. Shaking his head, his Saru couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"You are so stupid Misaki… Not everyone has a precious thing because I don't have one." The hand that settled on his cheek silenced any smart remark from the vanguard. "I have something that is my everything."

Something about the way he said it, slowly drawing out every word made Misaki Yata blush heavily. Fushimi had been right in saying they could never be best friends again. That trust was broken inevitably.

"Listen… Saru…" Fushimi hummed, to show he was listening. "I still feel like I should die… but I won't. Because I don't want my precious thing doing stupid stuff…"

"So I'm guessing you're talking about your clan then?"

The blue was shocked when the front of his shirt was yanked forward, that frail looking body perfectly capable of still handling him like a paperweight.

"Fucking monkey… it's you!"

Oh, Fushimi could not miss this opportunity. He smirked down at the red.

"Oh really, Mi~Sa~Ki~?"

He was punched in the arm for his advances.

"Stop being creepy you shitty monkey! I was only saying!"

Saruhiko Fushimi didn't want to know what happened in his dream; what all was said. He could care less really. As long as his Misaki had a reason to keep living, whatever it maybe, was all the blue really cared about.

"You know I'm serious though. About being unable to live without you." The blue decided to remove an imaginary speck of dust from his jacket when he said this, awaiting a response.

"Monkey."

Before he could retaliate with a clever expression that would go right over the vanguard's head, he felt a pair of lips crash into his own; and he held on so tight in case they both drowned they would drown together. It felt so bittersweet, the cold lips against the warm lips, the lips of a red and the lips of a blue pressed so sweetly against each other. Fushimi decided then and there if this is how he would die he would gladly give his last breath—

But he didn't.

Misaki Yata pulled slightly away from the face of his former best friend. No, they could never be best friends again, but they would always be the other's precious thing.

"Don't you get it by now Saru…? I'll live for you…as long as you live for me…"

Saruhiko Fushimi understood it then.

"I will. Mi~Sa~Ki~"

"Bastard…!"

" _I'm still here."_

" _I don't want to die…!"_

" _I'll live for you..."_

* * *

 **And thus is the end of the trilogy. I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have!**

 **-Soul Spirit-**


End file.
